


Vincent and the Mistress

by D_f_m22



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 10:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20722856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_f_m22/pseuds/D_f_m22
Summary: The Doctor isn't the only one that's met Vincent.





	Vincent and the Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on his for a while. 
> 
> Feedback appreciated.

The sun was setting over the provincial courtyard, basking everything in an illuminating yellow glow. The scent of lavender from the nearby fields drifted in on a warm summer breeze that rustled the leaves and sunflowers in its wake. A wind of an altogether different kind picked up at the back of the courtyard, down where the walled garden gave way to forest. There, under the shade of a willow tree, a blue box very familiar to the observer disappeared in a wheeze as it disturbed several of the crisp leaves that were resting on the dry soil. A man-scruffy and dressed in paint-stained clothes- stared at where the box had once been. A euphoric smile spread across his face as he removed his straw hat and marched towards the courtyard with renewed purpose, unaware of the unexpected guest awaiting him. As he reached the courtyard, he looked up to the sky and held his arms wide.

“Unbelievable,” he exclaimed to the heavens. “Its unbelievable.” 

“Yes,” a woman declared promptly, making her presence known. “He is rather unbelievable. Its unbelievable that he can fly around the universe and break so many rules of time and still face less Time Lord trials than I have. I don’t know whether its bravery or stupidity that keeps him going. I rather suspect its stupidity.” 

The man’s arms remained outstretched at his sides as he stared at the mysterious woman that had made herself comfortable in his garden. Sat at the bench against the wall, the woman had a peculiar fruit hat propped atop her head. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, skirt and petticoats riding up to reveal a pair of laced up black boots. At her side, a black umbrella rested against a flower pot. It looked out of place given that rain hadn’t graced the region for several weeks yet it somehow managed to look more like it belonged than its owner. The man couldn’t help but gawp at the woman. For all her oddities and quirks, he recognised something akin to himself in the woman. As his eyes scanned up to hers, he realised that what he recognised was the flame of madness that burned not far from the surface. That madness wasn’t there today- for either of them- but it was below the surface; always threatening to spill out of their inner lives and into their outer ones. 

“Are you going to say anything?” The woman asked, impatience growing. “Look at your wee brow all furrowed up. You could give the eyebrows one a run for his money.” 

The man looked at the woman, mouth eventually clamping shut as he considered his next words. 

Finally, brow still creased, he asked, “Are you from Holland as well?” 

“Yes,” the woman answered without missing a beat. Sometimes the easiest answer was a lie. “I’m Missy and I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Vincent.” 

XXXXXXXX

“Can you try and eat a little bit more for me, Missy?”

Missy stopped pushing the peas around her plate and looked up at the Doctor. The kitchen was bathed in a dim light- Missy had objected to the presence of too much light, refusing to even leave her bed if the lights were too bright. As she looked at the Doctor, she felt his full attention bore into her. In one look alone, there was concern and unconditional love. Missy didn’t know what she had done to deserve it. 

“Can’t,” Missy said as she placed her fork on the plate and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Can I go back to bed now?” 

“And do what?” The Doctor asked as he pulled his chair closer to Missy. Cautiously, he dared to rest his hand on her knee. When she didn’t pull away, he began to run his thumb along the cotton of her pyjama bottoms. “You’ve been in bed for the last three days.” 

“Sleep,” Missy answered monotonously. “I want to sleep forever. I don’t want to exist anymore.” 

“You not existing isn’t going to solve anything, Missy. All those thoughts and emotions that are running through your head are scary, aren’t they?”

Missy nodded, clearly in one of her more pliant moods. 

“They scare me and I…I think I’m a little sad at the moment.”

The Doctor nodded in encouragement, eyebrows softening as he offered Missy a small smile.

“I think you are too,” he agreed. “But this is good, Missy. I know you might not believe me, but it is. This is the first time you’ve slowed down long enough to experience these emotions. That’s a good thing.”

“Can I go back to bed now?”

“Let me come with you?” The Doctor asked. “You don’t need to be sad on your own.” 

In the Vault, it was impossible to perceive any temporal energy. The Doctor had adapted it that way deliberately. At first it had been a way of ensuring that Missy couldn’t plot any devious plan from the comfort of her tomb-turned prison. Quickly, however, the need for the block on temporal energy changed. It became kinder to keep the passing of time from the Time Lady. She had grown used to it, the Doctor hadn’t. As he rested in bed with Missy, he could no longer feel the thrumming of time through his veins. Its passing was no longer measured in seconds and minutes and hours. Instead, it was measured in Missy’s movements; the way she whimpered, the way she curled into his side and the way she bit into his shoulder when the pain became too much. She still hadn’t learned that just being in pain didn’t give her the right to inflict pain on others. In the deep of the night, though, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that. If she needed comfort, he was there to give it- even if it meant losing a chunk of his current shoulder. At one stage in his new currency of time, it stood still. Missy woke up- properly, not the half-awake murmurings that had been taking place throughout the night. Pulling herself up, she rested on her elbow and peered at the Doctor. Her eyes were pink- puffy from the tears she’d been crying most of the night.

“I can’t do this,” Missy whispered. The words slipped from her mouth and hung in the darkness. “I can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” The Doctor asked, pragmatic and calm. 

“Exist,” Missy admitted. “It’s…It hurts to exist.” 

“I know,” The Doctor consoled. And he did know, he knew what it was like trying to exist on the days where breathing was hard. In a moment of indulgence, he reached out and pushed a strand of Missy’s hair behind her ear. “I know it’s hard but all I’m asking you to do is try to get through the night. Can you do that? You’re not going to be on your own.” 

Missy looked up at the Doctor, hanging on his every word. The Doctor wasn’t used to having the Master’s attention in this way but ever since she’d re-surfaced in his life, in this form, she’d looked at him like he had all the answers. Like he alone could end her suffering.

It hurt him- to see her so human. 

“You know, Missy,” the Doctor said softly. “The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The Good things don’t always soften the bad things but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.” 

Missy looked at the Doctor, blinking for a few seconds before she descended into a fit of giggles.

“I met him and I saw you meet him,” Missy declared suddenly. “Vinnie Van Gogh. You tried to help him, you silly man. You showed him things you shouldn’t have and you knew it would change nothing but the ginger one with long legs thought it might. You told her those pretty words when she cried. Silly thing, if tears and words could have changed anything, the universe would be a very different place by now.” 

“You were there?” The Doctor asked, gobsmacked. “How were you there? You were…”

“Dead?” Missy finished for him. “Yes, but I’m always dead and never dead at the same time, you know?” 

“No,” the Doctor replied, his mind lingering on the concept of death and dying and the warped way that Missy viewed it. “No, Missy and I don’t think you know what you mean either.” 

Missy sighed, suddenly overcome by exhaustion as she flopped back down on the pillow. The Time Lady’s knotted hair piled on the top of her head and formed a curtain over her face. The Doctor reached out and pushed Missy’s hair back. She poked her tongue out at him momentarily before her face crumbled and she let out a tired sob. 

“Hush,” the Doctor soothed, cupping her cheek and running his thumb along the sharp edge of her jawline. “Focus on my question, do you understand what you just said?” 

Missy shook her head, eyes unfocused and wide. 

“I don’t understand death. Sometimes when I’m gone, it’s like a peaceful sleep. But then I come back. I always come back and sometimes I love being alive. I love it so much, but then I don’t like it sometimes. Like these times.” 

The Doctor frowned, brow creased as he listened to Missy.

“I get bored and when I get bored I think,” Missy continued. “And then when I think, it all goes a bit wrong.” 

“Thinking is always dangerous,” the Doctor agreed. “I’m the same.”

“We’re the same,” Missy mused, face contorting in some form of emotional pain only she could feel. “And different. So different.”

The Doctor reached out and rubbed deep circles along Missy’s body with the heel of his hand- he started at the top of her left shoulder and moved down towards her hip and then her thighs as he methodically tried to work the tension out of her. 

“Don’t get upset,” the Doctor sighed. “Getting upset won’t help. Now, you were telling me about the time you met Vincent.”

XXXXXXXX

“I don’t think much of the cafes and bars,” Missy admitted as she walked across the fields of Provence, kicking up the dust as she went. Vincent followed on her heels and tried to keep up with the strange woman’s ramblings. “I’ve been banned from most of the locals anyway and I know you have too so I thought we could have a wee picnic, what do you think?” 

“A picnic?” Vincent questioned. “But it’ll be dark soon.”

“Aye,” Missy nodded as she looked across the fields at the setting sun. “Perfect time for a picnic. I find a starry night ever so delightful. Inspiring even… or have you already done that one? I do sometimes get muddled with human timelines.”

The Time Lady broke off with a shrug and let out a girlish giggle that didn’t suit her. Vincent found himself looking at the woman in the way everyone looked at him, concern pooled in his stomach for both himself and the stranger. 

“Does anyone know you’re here?” Vincent asked cautiously. “I mean are you allowed out on your own?” 

“Why does everyone always ask me that?” Missy said with a scowl. “Honestly, for centuries, it’s been one of the first things that people say to me when they meet me. I find it rather offensive.” 

“You give off a certain…” Vincent paused, searching for the right word. “Energy. I just wondered if there might be someone out there who’s worried about you.”

Missy paused, tilting her head and picking up a strand of lavender that she promptly placed behind her ear. 

“That’s sweet of you Vinnie,” Missy commented. “Very sweet indeed but there’s been no one to worry about me for centuries. Now, I think you need to sort out your priorities. A beautiful stranger from a place far, far away has dropped by with answers to amazing secrets and you’re asking her if she’s escaped from the loony bin!”

Vincent’s brow furrowed, confusion growing by the second. Yet, meeting Missy this way still wasn’t the strangest thing that had happened to him over the last few weeks. While he was lost in his thoughts, Missy set to work on setting up the picnic. Laying a blanket out, Missy began pulling out a range of treasures from a straw bag. It didn’t seem possible that so much could fit in such a small bag. When the picnic was laid out, Missy reached into the bag for the final treasure; a bottle of 1750 red wine.

“Where did you get all of that from?” Vincent asked as Missy pulled the cork out and poured two glasses of wine. “You didn’t have a bag when we left my garden.”

“Didn’t I?” Missy commented in faux-shock. “I guess I must be a teensy bit magic. Now stop gawping and join me in a drink. If you’re lucky, I might let you paint me.”

Vincent nodded despite himself, feeling oddly compelled to follow Missy’s instructions. 

“You’d be beautiful to paint,” Vincent said honestly, lost in his own mind as inspiration began to stir. “All that energy. There’s so much energy.”

“You do like the energy, don’t you?” Missy mused, ripping off a piece of bread and dipping it into a definitely off-planet dip. “How peculiar.”

Vincent let out a cynical laugh and shook his head.

“You can laugh like the rest of them,” Vincent said. “I know my technique’s the joke of the land.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. There’s only room for one drama queen in this conversation and its me,” Missy chided gently. Leaning in conspiratorially, Missy whispered into the artist’s ear. “Anyway, you’ve had a glimpse of the future. Your future. Your beautiful, bright future that you’re not gonnae be a part of. Courtesy of my pal, the Doctor.”

“You know the Doctor?” Vincent asked. “And Amy?”

“I know the Doctor. He’s mine,” Missy confirmed. “I kept a close eye on Miss Pond, but I can’t say I know her.” 

“He’s your Doctor? He told me he wasn’t that type of Doctor.”

Missy scowled, her whole face contorted in disgust.

“He isn’t! He needs that type of Doctor far more than either of us! Geeze, you should see the latest version of him- all eyebrows and suppressed trauma.”

“The latest version of him…” Vincent echoed cautiously. “Missy, I really think we should get you somewhere more…settled.”

Missy threw her head back and laughed. 

“This is me sane, Vinnie, just because you don’t understand what I’m saying doesn’t mean I’m mad. You of all people should know that.” 

“Missy, what are you doing here?” Vincent asked, curiosity brimming and patience running out. “I’ve have a very busy day.”

“Haven’t you just,” Missy agreed. “Well I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” Vincent questioned. “Missy, I’m elated!”

“Elated? Yes, I can see that dear, but you might not be tomorrow. The Doctor is very good at lifting people up but he’s not so good at dealing with the consequences. Silly old fool that he is.” 

“So, you’re here to provide the aftercare?”

“If you like,” Missy shrugged as she drained her glass of the last of the wine. “But be warned, my aftercare comes with a dose of realism. Not the magical variety.” 

XXXXXXXX

Missy had fallen to sleep halfway through telling the Doctor about her encounter with Vincent. One minute she had been sat up, talking animatedly and the next her voice had grown heavy and the sound of snores had filled the room. At some point, the Doctor must have joined her in sleep because now he had awoken to an empty bed. Somewhere nearby, he could hear cupboards opening and closing. It was followed by an incoherent mumbling and then a sudden screech as what sounded like a stack of plates crashed down onto the kitchen floor. 

“Missy,” The Doctor mumbled quietly. Then, as he woke up more and came to his senses, he remembered the state Missy had been in earlier. With a greater urgency, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Jumping out of bed with an energy the Doctor usually reserved for mishaps on alien planets, the Time Lord followed the origins of the sound to the kitchen. “Missy, what are you doing?” 

The Time Lady jolted around to face the Doctor, dark hair ruffled on one side and eyes wide. A guilty expression lined her features- an expression she’d carried around with every face despite her best efforts. It was funny as the Doctor was nearly certain she had done nothing to warrant guilt (on this occasion at least). A heavy silence hung in the air, Missy staring at the Doctor and nervously looking around the room. 

“You took it,” the Time Lady accused eyes narrowed as her glare bore into the Doctor. “I need it back.”

“Took what?” The Doctor asked cautiously. At some point in his slumber, Missy’s mood had shifted from maudlin to a paranoid mania. “I haven’t taken anything from you.” 

“All my things,” Missy shot back. “You took them. The day I was supposed to die.” 

The Doctor shook his head, Missy had had nothing on her when he found her awaiting execution. It was a fact that saddened the Doctor, his oldest friend seemed to have no possessions- worldly or otherwise. 

“Kos, you didn’t have anything to take,” the Doctor said gently. “It was all gone.”

“Its on my Tardis,” Missy informed. “All of it. The things that matter anyway. The things I haven’t destroyed.” 

“Okay. Tell me where your Tardis is then,” the Doctor said. “If the things aren’t forbidden, I can bring them to you. Let me do that for you.” 

“No,” Missy said sharply, teeth bared and tongue sharpened. Then her features softened, but not in a natural way. Eyes widened in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, Missy threw her head back and laughed. It was the horrid, manic laugh that the Doctor hated. “A girl has to have some secrets, dear.” 

The Doctor inhaled, wrinkled hands covering his mouth as tears reached his eyes and threatened to fall. He wanted to run. Running would be easier than facing his friend’s insanity head on. This wasn’t like their encounters with an audience; Missy had no one to perform for and her suffering was real. That realisation hit the Doctor harder than he would have liked. It was like all those years ago, when he had encountered the troubled artist and been forced to accept that he couldn’t make the pain go away. Vincent didn’t care that he was the Doctor from faraway, he’d just wanted to make it through the day. And he nearly managed it until the day he didn’t. Closing his eyes, the Doctor tried to forget Amy’s face when she had learned the same lesson as him; life wasn’t fair, and he couldn’t fix everything. Sometimes, he couldn’t fix anything. It had been decades, maybe even centuries, since he’d thought of his encounter with Vincent but tonight something had changed. He couldn’t believe that Missy had met him. The Time Lady had little time for humans and the ones she did find time for were usually the warlords and dictators of the planet. Now though, as he watched her behaviour deteriorate, he was starting to realise she probably had more in common with the artist than he had ever considered. 

All at once, the Doctor remembered the creative flair the Master had shown at the Academy. 

The creative flair that was quickly removed by any means necessary. 

“Missy. Come…Just come over here please,” the Doctor asked. “Please. You need help.” 

“I know I need help!” Missy shouted back. “I asked for help. Years and years and years ago but I never got it.” 

She hadn’t moved so the Doctor moved for her, crossing the floor and hesitantly holding out his hand. To his surprise, she took it. 

“Who did you ask for help?” The Doctor asked curiously.

He couldn’t imagine her asking anyone for help. Except she had, she had asked him for help. That was how they had ended up here. 

“Home,” Missy said very quietly. “Just before the war. I…I tried. I knew something was wrong and I tried to get help but there was none, so I found other help.” 

The Doctor knew what that meant, her unhealthy coping mechanisms surpassed her list of planetary destructions. Although it could be argued that planetary destruction was one of the coping mechanisms. 

“I’m so sorry, Missy,” the Doctor said genuinely. “Where was I? Why didn’t you come to me?”

“You were gone,” Missy said bluntly. “Gone somewhere beautiful I imagine.” 

“I’m here to help you now,” the Doctor promised. “I’m finally here.” 

“Yes?” The Time Lady questioned with an uncertainty he didn’t know she was capable of.

“Yes.” 

Gently, the Doctor tugged Missy towards him. She was pliant, accepting the tug and planting herself against his chest. His thumb stroked the outside of the hand that he was still holding. 

“Stay within reach,” the Doctor mumbled. “Let’s sit down.”

“I want to sit down here,” Missy said, already sinking to the floor. “Right here.” 

“Okay,” the Doctor agreed, back rested against the kitchen cabinets as he bracketed Missy between his legs. “Here’s just fine.” 

Seconds ticked by in silence, neither Time Lord daring to break it. Occasionally, Missy squeezed the Doctor’s hand. To the casual observer, it was an action that looked random, but the Doctor knew it was anything but. It was Missy’s tether to reality- whenever her mind was wandering too far into its own crevices, a tiny squeeze was all the reassurance she needed that she wasn’t alone this time. 

As was often the case, it was Missy who broke the silence. 

“You tried to help him,” Missy said numbly. “I saw you.”

“Who?” The Doctor asked, pushing her hair away from her forehead. 

“Vincent,” Missy replied. “Of the Van Gogh variety.” 

“You’ve got him on your mind tonight,” the Doctor commented. “But yes, I did. I couldn’t though.” 

“I think you helped more than you realise,” Missy mused. “That’s what he said anyway. Apparently, you’re the best Doctor he ever saw. Don’t let that inflate your ego. He still killed himself.” 

The Doctor tensed, holding Missy a little tighter at the harshness of her words. 

“He said that?”

Missy made a tiny noise of affirmation and closed her eyes, head rested against the Doctor’s collar bone; her chin was tilted just enough that she could press her parted lips to his jaw, providing just enough contact to keep her in his world. In the dim light of the kitchen, all the lines on the Time Lady’s face could be seen. The Doctor so wanted her to look peaceful, but she didn’t. Each line resembled her emotional fatigue. A barely muffled whine escaped Missy’s lips and the Doctor felt her clammy hand squeeze his tightly. In this position, they were close enough that the whine vibrated against his stubble, tickling it like an autumn breeze. Silently, the Doctor pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“If you want to cry, you can cry,” he reassured. “I don’t mind.” 

“I do,” Missy countered.

“Okay,” the Doctor sighed, mind racing as he thought of the best way to ask his next question. “Missy, have you ever thought of killing yourself?” 

The Doctor’s hearts stopped when he felt her nod against his chest. 

“Always and never,” Missy answered. 

“Do you understand what you’re saying, Missy, because I don’t,” the Doctor admitted. “But I think you just nodded and I think that means you have.”

“I think I’ve killed myself before,” Missy admitted. “But it all blurs and I always come back. Not like Vincent.” 

They were back to Vincent again, at this stage the Doctor knew he was a deflection. 

“You liked Vincent, didn’t you?” He questioned. 

“As much as I can like a human,” Missy admitted. “His paintings were beautiful and haunting, and he saw the things I see.”

“The things you see?” The Doctor questioned.

Missy laughed. “You’ve always thought I’ve never seen the universe, but I have. I saw so much of it. Every tiny bit of energy and beauty and pain, I saw it and I felt it. He was the same. Can’t you see that in his paintings? I thought, I thought maybe if I spent an afternoon with him…”

“Did you think you could save him?” The Doctor asked in surprise.

Missy scoffed. “Of course not. I thought…I thought. Do you know he gave me flowers?”

“Missy, what did you think?” The Doctor pressed, curious for an insight into his friend’s mind and keen to keep her distracted. 

“Violets and sunflowers from his garden,” Missy said thoughtfully. “I kept them. I dreamed they were here but they weren’t. They weren’t in the cupboard.”

“Flowers wouldn’t last that long anyway, Missy,” the Doctor reasoned. 

“Mine would. They were beautiful. No one had ever given me flowers before.”

“I brought flowers to your grave,” the Doctor said. “Gallifreyan Wild Rose.” 

“I was otherwise occupied, dear, excuse me for forgetting.”

The Doctor stifled a laugh, it was one of the better reactions she had had that evening. 

“I thought I could help him,” Missy whispered. “Not forever, just for a little while. I think I did. That’s what I thought I could do.”

“You wanted to help someone?” The Doctor asked in surprise. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.” 

“Neither did I,” Missy admitted. “I also wanted to get an original Van Gogh painting, I was kind of tangled up in something at the time.”

“You usually are,” the Doctor whispered without malice.

“I usually am,” Missy said with a laugh. 

XXXXXXXX

“He showed me such beautiful things,” Vincent said as he took another swig of his red wine. “The future, I think it might change everything.” 

“That’s nice, dear,” Missy replied, staring out at the rolling hills of Provence. “But you’d already seen beautiful things. Your paintings show that.” 

“You’re familiar with my paintings?” Vincent asked in surprise. “This day keeps getting stranger.” 

“Well I'm very strange. I’m also very well-travelled and I’m very well versed in your work.” 

Vincent’s hand reached for his straw hat and he pulled it off, revealing his dry red hair. He couldn’t quite find the words to articulate how he was feeling but that suited Missy just fine. She was in the mood for talking. 

“You know your fate is sealed, don’t you?” She said bluntly between bites of a cheese. 

“Isn’t it for all of us?” Vincent replied cynically. “But, yes, I’ve always suspected my fate is sealed.”

Missy tilted her head in consideration and then nodded decisively. 

“You’re not long for this world. But you know that. It doesn’t stop things from being beautiful and it doesn’t stop there from being hope.”

“You sound like the Doctor,” Vincent commented. “Do you know him well?”

“Intimately,” Missy said with a wink. “But he never does believe me when I say we’re similar. Honestly, Vinnie, I may take you with me just to prove a point. I’ve done madder things in my time.” 

“You know madness?” Vincent asked, leaning in close to the Time Lady.

“Also intimately,” Missy said. “But everyone knows madness if they sit long enough with themselves. Some of us are just more accepting of that.”

Vincent chuckled darkly and lifted his drink to Missy in admiration for what she had said. 

“Can you come and talk to the doctors that my brother keeps sending?”

“Afraid not, Ginge,” Missy said with a shake of her head. “I only have time for one Doctor and even that one I try to kill.” 

“I think we’re one of the same, Missy.”

“I’ll have to disagree with you on that one, dear,” Missy said thoughtfully. “You’re kind with your madness, I’m cruel.” 

XXXXXXXX

“I thought you’d have more questions about the..” the Doctor paused and waved his hand over his face. “The new look. People usually do.”

Vincent dismissed him with a scoff. “I know it’s you, I can feel your soul. Anyway, Missy warned me about the caterpillars that have taken up residence on your brow.”

“She has a fondness for doing that,” the Doctor grumbled. His eyes fell on the bouquet of fresh sunflowers that the artist was clutching. “You should branch out. No one likes a one trick pony.”

“What?” Vincent questioned, before looking down at the flowers and laughing. “They’re for Missy.”

“Well I didn’t think they were for me,” the Doctor replied. “Now about Missy… I don’t know how she’s going to react to this. Please don’t take anything she says to heart.” 

“Missy’s not a woman to mince her words,” Vincent conceded. “How…How bad is she, Doctor?”

The Doctor took in a deep, considered breath. 

“Remember your time in hospital?”

“Regretfully,” Vincent replied. “Is she that bad?”

“And then some,” the Doctor sighed. “Vincent, I hope she’ll be pleased to see you, but you do realise when you saw her, for whatever reason, she showed you the best of herself. That side doesn’t come out very often.”

“That version of her is still somewhere though, Doctor. We’re always somewhere even when we think we’re not.”

The Doctor considered the artist’s words and shrugged. 

“Let’s head inside.”

XXXXXXXX

Missy rolled over in her bed, head clouded from whatever medication the Doctor had eventually given her. After three days of emotional ups and downs, the Doctor had insisted on a medical intervention. She didn’t blame him for that, they were going around in circles. From what she could remember, she’d spent hours sat with him on the kitchen floor rambling about death and her encounter with Vincent Van Gogh. She couldn’t remember much more and hoped that she’d managed to keep her visit to Susan Sontag and year with John Lennon secret- some things were sacred. Outside, she could hear mumbled whispers. It was the Doctor and someone else, not the Egg but someone else. It was a voice she recognised but couldn’t place. It sounded and felt like a voice out of time. Missy’s mind wandered- another consequence of the sedation- and she found herself forgetting about the voices and rolling over once more as she drifted back to sleep. When she awoke, she was surprised to hear the voices again. They were closer this time and when she turned over to find their owners, she was shocked to see not only the Doctor but a figure she thought she’d never see again. Next to her on the dresser stood a vase of beautiful sunflowers. Missy broke into a vacant smile.

“You brought me flowers, Vincent?” Missy questioned. “How naughty of you. I hope you know I’m taken, aren’t I Thete?” 

Vincent smiled softly and looked at the Doctor, there was a slurred edge to Missy’s voice that the artist hadn’t been expecting. 

“More’s the pity,” Vincent teased. “They're a gift, Missy. Something pretty in a cruel world.” 

Missy laughed, sloppily wiping at the saliva that had formed in the corners of her lips. The Doctor watched, perplexed at seeing his friend interact in such a warm way with a human.

“It’s a little less cruel now I’m locked away,” Missy quipped and attempted to sit up. She failed and both the Doctor and Vincent rushed forward to attend to her. “Oh aren’t I lucky? Two attentive men at my beck and call.” 

Neither Time Lord nor man said anything. Instead, Vincent held Missy up gently as the Doctor adjusted her pillows. Eventually, once they were happy the Time Lady had enough support, they let her rest back against the head rest. 

“You’ve done a naughty thing again, Doctor,” she sighed. “Be careful or the Time Lords might get annoyed. Or more annoyed than usual.” 

The Doctor shrugged. “Worth the risk, I thought you might want to see your friend again.”

Missy looked at the Doctor, surprised his use of the word friend.

“Vincent’s my friend?” She questioned uncertainly.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” The Doctor prompted. 

Missy blinked and looked over at Vincent.

“Are we?”

“Well I thought so,” the artist said. “I enjoyed your visits ever so much. After the Doctor left and my old demons creeped in, you kept me company.”

The Doctor watched the interaction with intense curiosity, he’d had no idea there had been multiple visits. 

“I did,” Missy agreed, suppressing a yawn. “I’m afraid I’m not up to very much.” 

“That’s okay,” Vincent said. “I can just keep you company. Why don’t you have a rest- both of you- you look like you need it.” 

XXXXXXXX

“You’ll say goodbye to her for me?” Vincent asked as he stepped out of the Tardis and back into his space in time. “I fear this’ll be the last time I see either of you.” 

The Doctor stepped out in the bright sunshine of Provence and shielded his eyes from the sun. Taking a deep breath, he could taste the fruity notes of spring 1890. Vincent always had had a knack of just knowing certain things. 

“I’ll say goodbye to her for you,” he agreed. “Be kind to yourself, won’t you?”

Vincent nodded, tucking his hand inside his jacket pocket and retrieved what looked like the back of a cereal box. 

“I’ll try,” he said as he turned over the stray bit of cardboard. Where the Doctor had been expecting a blank whiteness, he found brilliant swirls of purple and blue styled into a backdrop for two sleeping figures. One a man, the other a woman were embracing in sleep in a bed the Doctor recognised as Missy’s from the Vault. With a special type of artistic magic, Vincent appeared to have captured the special way that Time moved around the Gallifreyans in the swirls of deep purple and blue. “You both looked so peaceful when you were sleeping. Take it to remember me.”

“No one will forget you, Vincent,” the Doctor assured. “You know that, but this is a wonderful gift. It’s beautiful. We don’t… Missy and I don’t have photographs together; this is very special.” 

“You’re both very special to me,” Vincent smiled sadly. “Not much in my life is certain, but that is.”


End file.
